Thursday, December 14, 2006

Prose Poem

It was nearly the dawn of the apocalypse, we were led to believe. The school principal spent the day sharpening a mountain of pencils. The janitor, who lived on a raft, drew Groucho moustaches on the children as they filed in for lunch – a dish of wine and bread. All were hush during the school play. Everyone was a character, and in the end everyone tragically died on stage.

No comments: